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"Lads!" shouted Miloradovich in a loud, self-confident, and

cheery voice, obviously so elated by the sound of firing, by the

prospect of battle, and by the sight of the gallant Apsherons,

his comrades in Suvorov's time, now passing so gallantly before

the Emperors, that he forgot the sovereigns' presence. "Lads,

it's not the first village you've had to take," cried he.

"Glad to do our best!" shouted the soldiers.

The Emperor's horse started at the sudden cry. This horse that

had carried the sovereign at reviews in Russia bore him also here

on the field of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows of his

left foot and pricking its ears at the sound of shots just as it

had done on the Empress' Field, not understanding the

significance of the firing, nor of the nearness of the Emperor

Francis' black cob, nor of all that was being said, thought, and

felt that day by its rider.

The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made

a remark to him, pointing to the gallant Apsherons.